


A Gift

by MFLuder



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Anal Beads, Anal Play, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 18:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MFLuder/pseuds/MFLuder
Summary: Originally posted April 2, 2008, onmy DW.





	A Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted April 2, 2008, on [my DW](https://mf-luder-xf.dreamwidth.org/171777.html).

“You have got to be kidding me?!” he yells, sucking in a whimper. John Sheppard is a man. He can. Fucking. Take. It!

He's distracted for a moment by the flit of McKay's hands in his peripheral vision. Looking over, he sees the stunned, nervous look McKay only gets when the aliens haven't given him an easily solvable mechanical problem. Also, the one he gets when a girl starts flirting with him. This is just not the time for that kind of ineptitude.

“I don't know...why...aliens are crazy, I tell you, they're never this dumb on TV, well maybe the evil ones...I don't know—”

“McKay!” he yells out, inadvertently shifting his body and a jolt of pleasure shoots up his spine, making his entire body tingle. He holds his breath for a moment, counting down from ten and by that time his body is under control and McKay's mouth has snapped closed and he's staring at John.

“Oh, God. Does it hurt?”

“Well,” John pants, “it's not exactly my idea of fun.”

There go the hands again, moving around like a pair of butterflies, afraid to land on John to help him because the last time he'd done that, John had screamed as he nearly came in his pants.

_A gift_ , the aliens had said. _A test_ , the aliens had said. Did anyone tell him what it was? Did anyone ask if he _wanted_ a gift? Of course not. A snap of their fingers and John had fallen to his knees in front of their ragtag altar, crying out as _something_ shifted inside him, lighting his body deliciously on fire.

Then they'd departed, leaving McKay completely lost as to why John was gritting his teeth and, on his knees, neither of them any wiser as to how to accomplish said test or accept said gift. Or what the hell the whole point of it was.

“I am going to kill them,” he gets out.

“Okay, okay.” McKay stands in front of him, facial features still stretched in a worried manner, but at least a little calmer. “What exactly is the problem? Where are you hurt? Should I call Atlantis and have Keller send a med team?”

“Oh, God, anything but, please.” He hopes his earnest loathing for that idea reads through the trembles still racking his body.

“Well, what then?” 

Yes. Exasperation he can deal with.

He remains crouched on hands and knees – not a very dignified position to be having this conversation – but there's no chance he's going to move again until he is sure he can do so without spontaneously orgasming.

“Umm...”

“Spit it out.” 

In front of him, McKay's toe is tapping. He almost smiles at that.

“Uh, apparently, the aliens’ idea of a test concerns stamina. And their gift...something similar to pleasure.”

“That makes no sense, Sheppard. Stop mumbling and just get on with it.”

He grits his teeth to prepare, launching himself up so that his hands rest on his knees and he can actually look his teammate in the face. He doesn't succeed this time in stifling the whine that comes from deep in his throat.

“They put something in me. _In..._!” He's trying to convey his meaning without saying something so demeaning as 'aliens magically snapped anal beads inside me, help me get them out'.

For a moment, John's afraid he is going to have to spell it out after all and then he'd have to leave Atlantis and settle on an uninhabited rock where he could live out his days in shame.

But, ever the genius, McKay's forehead wrinkles for a moment before comprehension of some sort dawns.

“Oh. _Oooh_.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Well that's...that's just...”

“Depraved? Depressing? Distressing? Damaging? I'm sure I could think of a few more synonyms, too.”

“I was going to say odd, but actually? It's kind of hot. In an odd way, of course.”

Seeing the amused smirk on McKay's face, John wants nothing more than to smack it off with a sharp swat upside the head, but at the moment, he figures dignity is the better part of valor. And that means not moving. So instead, he glares.

“So, I suppose you want help with them?”

“I don't particularly want your help, McKay,” he sighs, shoulders sagging, but that only makes him suck back in the breath when something shifts against his prostate.

“Wasn't how I planned on spending my afternoon, but I suppose there could be worse ways. Hey, look at the bright side—at least they're not chasing you with spears. I can't imagine you'd make it very far.”

Damn it all the hell. The man is laughing at him.

“Just you wait, McKay. One day one of these crazy civilizations will decide what you need is a good spanking...” He fails to sound threatening.

“I should be so lucky,” the scientist snorts, a smile still playing about his lips. “Oh, all right. You're calling uncle, I'll help a friend out.”

Friend is spoken with a leer as he shifts down onto his own knees. His hands land lightly on John's neck, softly caressing him before he leans in for a quick, dry kiss.

“I think you should just be happy they decided it should be me to help you with your 'test'. Could you imagine asking Ronon to help you out with this problem? I suspect you'd have walked back to the gate first.”

McKay might be right, but John isn't about to admit it. He just stays still.

“Oh, take that grimace off your face. I know what the problem is and it's not like it's anything I haven't seen before. Or last night.”

Then McKay—no, Rodney, this wasn't a mission kind of situation, anymore—leans forward, putting his hands on John's hips, moving slow and deliberate. It makes a dull ache form deep in his groin. Letting his head fall forward onto Rodney's shoulder, he tries to slow his already heavy breathing.

Those capable hands travel up and down his back and shoulders, not sexual, but just relaxing the muscles he's been clenching for the last fifteen minutes or so. It feels good, pleasurable, but not intense like when he moves. In response, he shifts into Rodney's body and its warmth, slowly and relaxed enough that nothing moves within him.

“Ok, John. I'm here, ok? I'll get them out, I promise. And it's going to feel so good, I promise. So good you'll want to do it again. You'll love it...”

Rodney keeps whispering, so soft, he can hardly hear it, but rather feels the breath puff against his ear. Then his hands begin to move with purpose, sliding down John's entire backside in one rush, kneading his ass, palming at it, right where he can feel the balls sitting inside him.

It makes him straighten immediately, his arms shooting out and grabbing at Rodney's shoulders, scrambling for purchase as everything _shifts_ inside him. But it didn't stop there, no. Rodney reaches down, undoing John's zipper quickly, freeing him from his black boxers, and running his fingertips up and down the length of John's cock.

And God, it feels amazing.

When Rodney's mouth finds his, he dives right in: half kissing, half panting, his hips constantly moving in little circles as he allows himself to accept the pleasure now that Rodney's hands are on him. It isn't so alien now, cold and strange, but intense and exciting.

“John, can you move? John, are you listening?”

When he finally realizes Rodney is actually speaking to him and not just murmuring because that was what Rodney did, John backs up, letting their lips part fully.

“Mmmmm?” he questions, struggling to focus.

“Oh, God. You have no idea how wrecked you look. You're so hot. So hot, John.” 

Rodney's expression is sincere, highlighted with lust that John can't help but believe. “I wish I had a mirror, so you could see yourself,” Rodney continues. “Get down on all fours again for me. Please.”

Hardly knowing what he's doing, John responds, letting himself collapse back onto his hands, then onto his elbows for a sturdier base as pleasure flashes through his limbs. Rodney slides behind him, keeping one hand running up and down his back, his upper thighs, while the other whisks his boxers and BMUs out of the way.

He's so hard. He can feel the wet tip of his cock catching on hairs, slicking up his own stomach. He tries to stretch out and slide to the floor to get some friction, but a smart smack to his ass stops him. When he's gotten his breath back, he turns to look over his shoulder.

Rodney is staring at him, looking as surprised as John feels. He recovers fast, though.

“No. You wanted these out, we're going to get them out. It's not like Carter expected us to be gone all day. Besides, if you squirm on the floor, you're not going to be the only one coming in some random alien temple.”

John manages as good a smirk as possible considering Rodney's now trailing a finger over his hole, ever so lightly. Not enough, God, not enough...

Then Rodney's hands grip his hips, hauling him back almost into his lap. He hears Rodney spit into his hand before wet fingers began sliding along his crack, tantalizing, before there's a tug and John shifts his hips even further into Rodney's space in reaction. He moans.

“Good thing the aliens were kind enough to leave a little string. Might have had a problem otherwise.” The laughter is back in his voice.

“Huge problem,” John hisses, wriggling his ass in what he hopes is a dignified manner suggesting that Rodney attend to the huge problem right now, thank you very much.

“I love it when you're like this. Hands and knees, panting, hot for it, begging for it practically.” Rodney's voice is pitched just loud enough so that it reaches John's ears. He moans again.

When the first sphere is pulled out, John is stunned that he doesn't come. His vision whites out for a minute, but he manages to control his dick. At some point, apparently, his subconscious has decided it wants to wait it out until the end.

Two more slide out and John's face is plastered to the cool floor, his legs spread out as far as possible, one knee on either side of Rodney's crossed legs. He can still feel more balls jiggling inside him, pressing against his prostate, filling him up. Rodney is hushing him, planting soft kisses on his ass, fingers brushing through the hair on his upper thighs.

The fourth he feels in its entirety. Apparently bigger, he can feel the pressure as it hits his hole, then his body opening, just stretching around it, and _slow_ , Rodney's moving it so slow, torturing him...and then it's out and he feels his body close again. If he'd ever thought about it, he would have expected it to feel like a not-so-arousing bodily function, but instead, it's almost nothing like it, all pressure on his prostate and it feels like someone with exceptional girth is pulling out and it's fucking making him crazy with the dull but consuming and pleasurable feeling.

“You know,” he hears faintly, “it's a good thing none of these alien civilizations have developed CCTV, yet.”

“Trying to save my job for me, McKay? Keep my men from seeing me act like a whore?” He hadn't meant for it to be bitter, but somehow it comes out sounding that way to his own ears.

“No, you moron.” There's another sharp smack to his ass, just as startling as the first, but he arches with it, feeling the quick burn and the better ache after that comes from the outside pressure on the beads still inside him. “Because only I get to see you like this.”

It's the promising and proprietary tone that sets him off.

“Get this out of me, now, Rodney. I want to come.”

“Greedy,” Rodney mutters, but John knows he's smiling, and he prepares himself.

When Rodney sets his mind on a task, he gets the job done. Sometimes with a lot of flapping of hands and bitching, other times with the narrow-minded attention of a horse with blinders trying to win a race. He's never treated John much different, all bluster or focus. But sometimes, he can combine form with flair and this seems to be one of them.

The string of beads is pulled quickly and efficiently, but not without care, and not without arousing John to the point where he's coming without touching his cock, even before all the beads are out. How the aliens managed to fit that much inside him, he'll never know, but in that moment, it certainly doesn't matter.

His hands scramble for something to grab onto, finding only smooth tile, his back arches, and his cock spurts out thick strands onto his stomach and the floor. It seems to go on forever, though it can't be more than ten seconds. His orgasm comes from some place deep inside him and his vision is white, Rodney's hands on his ass seemingly the only thing keeping him attached to the ground.

He doesn't black out, but he does space out for a minute or so and when he comes back to his senses, he's lying on his back, pants pulled up though not closed, almost cradled in Rodney's embrace. Rodney's licking at his neck with small bites, nosing at his temple and hair; small ways he shows that what they do isn't just for one night. It's familiar, comfortable.

John can feel Rodney's hard on pressed up against his thigh, but when he slips a hand over it, Rodney says, “No,” and removes it. John looks at him questioningly.

“I think we have some aliens to show you passed their test,” he shrugs. 

Eying him suspiciously, John waits.

“Ok,” Rodney gives a long-suffering sigh. “That orgasm looked pretty damn amazing. And after the extraordinary job I did in giving it to you, I fully expect the same treatment.”

Now that's the Rodney John knows. Always out for himself. It makes John smile.

“Also, I don't suppose you have any of that shady Aqua Velva on you? We smell like sex.” A grimace flickers over Rodney's face, but John just laughs.

After a few minutes, they both stand although John's legs are still shaky, and he suspects if anyone looked too closely, they'd notice his walk is a bit more bow-legged than when they arrived. Grabbing his pack, Rodney walks out the door of the temple first. John reaches down to grab his, then pauses. He grabs the beads from the floor, sticking them in an unused pocket. They'll need to be washed, of course.

A gift, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow and chat with me [on tumblr](http://mf-luder-xf.tumblr.com)!


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